


The Darkness

by orphan_account



Category: Smosh, Video Blogging & YouTube RPF
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Cheating, Depression, Friendship, M/M, References to Suicide, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 10:13:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/697151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian has been suicidal since he was seventeen. It's always been Anthony's job deal with it, but he can't take much more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Darkness

It was Anthony’s job to deal with Ian’s darkness.   
  
No one else knew. None of Ian’s family members, none of his other friends, not even Melanie. It was a secret between the two of them, between two best friends. Sometimes Anthony wished Ian had chosen someone else to be his best friend.  
  
It had always been Anthony’s responsibility, ever since they were in high school, ever since that night when they were seventeen and Ian had looked Anthony in the eyes and told him, in a voice devoid of emotion, that he wanted to die.  
  
Anthony could pinpoint that as the exact moment when Ian’s darkness cast a shadow over his life. Those four simple words, and the confessions that followed. Some of them still made Anthony’s stomach churn. At the time, Anthony was nearly reduced to tears by the thought of Ian, his best friend, taking his own life. He’d pulled Ian into a tight embrace, incoherently babbling about how he needed him, about how he would be lost without him. He'd begged him to promise he’d never do it, and Ian had whispered the promise back tiredly. They’d fallen asleep on Anthony’s bed together, Anthony’s arms still locked around Ian as his heart ached at the thought of ever losing him.  
  
Anthony wished he could still care that much.  
  
Anthony’s own darkness came out sometimes, brought out and urged on by Ian’s. He wondered with a surprising calmness what would happen if, the next time Ian called him at three in the morning, he didn’t pick up the phone. Would Ian pull through it himself? Or would he get a call the next morning from a shocked and tearful Melanie, who’d awoken to find Ian sprawled lifeless on their bathroom floor next to an empty bottle of pills?  
  
Of course, when the time came, Anthony always answered the phone. Always drove to Ian’s house, talking him down as he drove, not hanging up until he pulled into Ian’s driveway. Always took Ian to their old house – the Smosh house – after leaving a hastily scribbled note for Melanie about catching up on some work. Always held him as they fell asleep, hoping to god that Ian wouldn’t wake up and need comforting again until morning. Always made him breakfast the next day and stayed with him until he was sure Ian would be okay on his own.  
  
It happened so often now that it had become a routine part of Anthony’s life. If Ian went a single month without having a crisis, it was practically a miracle. There were times when Anthony would begin to wonder if Ian was finally okay, for real this time; but of course, it never lasted. As soon as Anthony began to hope that this eight-year nightmare might finally be over, Ian would call him, shaking voice announcing that he had a razor or a rope and that he was going to use it. Those brief periods of light were always extinguished by the darkness once again.  
  
It was exhausting.  
  
Anthony no longer felt the panic and desperation he used to feel when Ian called him. What he felt now was a weary frustration, which he hid as best he could beneath comforting words and the same old plea that he needed Ian in his life. It wasn’t true anymore, but he could pretend, if it meant keeping Ian alive. Always the same tiring routine.  
  
Until Ian’s most recent crisis.  
  
It had started as a phone call. The same as always.  
  
 _“Anthony, I’m going to do it.”  
  
“Ian, don’t. Please.”  
  
“I can’t take it anymore.”  
  
“Yes, you can. You’re strong, Ian.”  
  
“I’m not.”_  
  
The conversation went on and on, back and forth with no resolution as Anthony drove the ten miles to Ian and Melanie’s house, phone pressed to his ear the entire time. He hung up the phone as he got out of the car, unlocking the front door of the house with his spare key. The kitchen light was on.  
  
“Ian?” Anthony whispered, stepping inside. “I’m –”  
  
Anthony’s voice caught in his throat as he stepped into the kitchen. Ian was sitting on the floor, his knees pulled up to his chest, staring up at Anthony with eyes wide. On the counter, glaringly obvious in the too-bright fluorescent light, was an open prescription bottle. Melanie’s sleeping pills.  
  
Anthony no longer felt in control of his body. His heart pounded in his ears as a freezing nausea settled in his stomach. “Ian,” he said, too loudly, dropping to his knees in front of him. “Ian, how many did you take?”  
  
Ian was silent for a second. “None,” he said finally, his voice cracking slightly.  
  
An exhausted relief flooded Anthony’s body. He closed his eyes, pulling Ian into a weak hug.   
  
“What the hell, Ian,” he muttered, more to himself than anything.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Ian whispered.  
  
Anthony was beginning to wonder.  
  
~  
  
Ian was quiet on the drive to the Smosh house. It wasn’t unusual, but there was something different about it tonight. Maybe it was the fact that he’d come so close this time. Anthony’s stomach churned at the thought of what might have happened if he hadn’t gotten there so soon. A dull anger surged  through him. What did he do to deserve this, anyway? Why was it his job to drive all over Sacramento in the middle of the night and take care of Ian?  
  
He kept his mouth shut, though. The last thing he needed was to upset Ian any further, not when he was still so strung-out.  
  
When they reached the house, Ian followed Anthony inside, kicking off his shoes and dropping his coat on the floor. Anthony did the same, too tired to care. He didn’t even bother to turn on the light, guiding Ian to the bedroom by memory. The moonlight streaming through the window gave him enough light to see by as he stripped down to his t-shirt and boxers and climbed tiredly into the bed. It was soft and inviting, and Ian joined him a moment later. Anthony pulled him into a loose embrace, one hand rubbing his back gently, as always. He couldn’t count how many times they’d slept like this. Despite his frustration, the warmth of Ian’s body was inviting. He closed his eyes, beginning to drift off already.  
  
“Anthony?” Ian’s whisper cut through Anthony’s tiredness. He hardly ever talked once they’d reached this point in the night.  
  
“What is it?” Anthony asked, squinting at Ian in the dark. He jumped as he felt Ian’s fingers reach up to trace the line of his jaw. “Ian –”  
  
Ian leaned in and kissed him. His lips were soft and wet, moving insistently against Anthony’s own, tongue sliding across his bottom lip. And Anthony hated himself, because it didn’t feel  _bad_. Not physically, at least.   
  
He tried to pull away, tried to say something, anything –  _What about Melanie? What about Kalel?_  - but Ian wouldn’t let him.  
  
“Anthony, please,” he whispered, his voice desperate. “I need this.”  
  
And that was it. Just another thing Anthony needed to do to get Ian through his latest crisis. Wasn’t that what his life had become anyway? Just one long attempt to save his best friend.  
  
And so he buried himself deep inside Ian and closed his eyes as they moved together, losing himself in the darkness.  
  
~  
  
That was two weeks ago. Two weeks he’d spent giving nothing but one-word replies when Ian spoke to him. Two weeks where he couldn’t make eye contact with Kalel without feeling a sick, wrenching guilt in the pit of his stomach. Two weeks spent contemplating how twisted and wrong his friendship with Ian had become.  The worst two weeks of his life.  
  
Now, at four in the morning, his phone was vibrating. The call display, predictably, read ‘Ian’ in bold letters. Anthony let it ring for almost thirty seconds before answering.  
  
“What’s wrong?”  
  
“Anthony.” Ian’s voice was shaky, close to tears. “Anthony, I’m going to kill mysel-”  
  
Anthony pressed the  _End Call_  button.  
  
His heart pounded heavily in his chest, but his movements were steady as he climbed out of bed. He opened the window of the second-story bedroom, took a deep breath, and hurled his phone out through the opening. Time seemed to move in slow motion as it sailed downwards. Finally, it shattered on the pavement below.   
  
Anthony turned numbly from the window, shutting it behind him. He crawled back into bed, next to Kalel’s warm, sleeping body. A strangely calm resignation was settling in his mind like a fog.   
  
Rolling over and closing his eyes, he gave in to the darkness.


End file.
